Perfect End to an Awful Day
by TrinityWildcat
Summary: Between the stress of his job, worries over his private life and even the weather turning against him, it's not been a great day for Bobby Goren. When he gets home, it may be about to turn even worse... Now complete.
1. An Awful Day

It had been, he reflected, a spectacularly crappy day. As he climbed into the cab, giving the driver his address whilst trying not to hit his head on the doorframe, he managed to drop his folder right onto his injured ankle. And so far, he thought, it showed few signs of getting any better. As the cabbie pulled out into traffic, merrily ignoring the blare of horns from behind him, Bobby Goren leaned his head back against the seat and tried to calm down.

It had been one of those days when everything that could possibly go wrong, did go wrong. Firstly, they'd learned that a perp who'd actually confessed to murdering his wife, right in front of them, had gotten away scot-free because of a mix-up when processing evidence. Heads would roll among the CSIs for that, but it was small consolation. Then several days of undercover work with himself and Eames posing as a successful businessman and his secretary at a convention for real estate agents had ended badly. They had managed to collar the Russian con-artists they'd been pursuing following a tip-off from the new Interpol Foreign Serious and Organized Crime Squad (or 'SOS' as it was rapidly becoming known), but one of the younger officers involved in the take-down had fallen for the female con-artist's ruse of faking pregnancy and labour pains to disarm an opponent; he'd been stabbed in the chest and was seriously ill in intensive care. Eames had arrested her, but it was little consolation to either the man's colleagues or family.

Normally he'd have taken some comfort in the way he and Eames had worked together - Major Case at its best, the two of them getting the information no-one else could - but even that wasn't much consolation today. Eames had not been her usual self recently, he mused, and whilst professionally they were getting along just fine, there was something missing there, their usual open friendship seemingly having been replaced by a more businesslike approach, on her part anyway.

Possibly she was just pissed at having to pose as his secretary. They were both too professional to let the constraints of a particular undercover role get to them, but a lot of the individuals they'd been mingling with did not hold very enlightened views, and several days of having him boss her around in order to not stand out was bound to grate slightly. Goren vividly recalled one particularly repellent individual asking if his secretary looked as good laid on top of the desk as she did sitting behind it; it had taken a great deal of his self-control to joke back that he'd not managed it yet and suspected she was a lesbian, instead of loosening the man's teeth as he'd have sincerely liked to do.

Then again, he thought, idly watching the grey streets slide past, possibly there was something more to it. Eames had been just very slightly distracted of late. They'd not planned to take down the con artists until the end of the convention tomorrow, but as with all the best-laid plans, life had gotten in the way. After booking in the perps and finishing up the paperwork, she'd been in a surprising hurry to get away. Originally they'd planned that she'd drop him off at his apartment after they finished the day's undercover work, but she'd so obviously been in a rush to leave he'd offered to take a cab instead. Hmm. perhaps there was another man in Eames' life? Well, he could hardly complain if there was. Four months after the surveillance operation, and he and Sienna were still going strong.

To top it all off, he'd put on weight recently, largely as a side-effect of posing as a businessman for the past few days. The convention seemed to exist largely as an excuse for its attendees to stuff themselves silly, drink the bar dry, and try to seduce each other's secretaries. Admittedly it added to the realism of his role - most of the men his own age there were pot-bellied and had long since given up on any form of weight control, he if anything looked too thin for the role he'd been playing - but he hated the feeling of being too heavy. He'd originally planned to fit in a treadmill session and get started on shedding the weight tonight, but he'd twisted his ankle running after one of the con-artists. It would be fine in a day or so, but right now it hurt every time he put his foot down, so that was that plan out of the window. He had no definite plans for his evening, but the phrase "double Scotch and a cigarette" was beginning to suggest itself as a good idea.

Suddenly, the cab stopped. He looked around. They were one block away from his home.

"This isn't my address," he informed the man, who shrugged.

"I know that, but you see there? Roadworks. Burst main. I can't go further. Street's blocked off at both ends."

He peered out of the window, and saw what the man meant; there were huge signs blocking off the road, water flooding everywhere and several men in fluorescent jackets running around with pissed expressions and pipe wrenches. Even pulling out his badge and trying the "I'm NYPD; get me where I want to go NOW" routine wasn't going to solve this one. With a resigned expression, he fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of bills, paid off the cabbie, and levered himself out of the cab. As he set off towards his apartment - idefinitely a double Scotch/ihe thought, iand the hell with it, I'll get takeout and worry about my fricken' weight tomorrow/i - there was an ominous rumble overhead. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and tried to walk faster. His ankle immediately protested, and he slowed to a limp. Three paces later, and the heavens opened.

As everyone else around him cursed and swore and dived back into their homes for umbrellas, or ran for the cover of nearby shops or doorways, he stopped, and glared balefully at the sky. iYes, why don't YOU piss on me too? Everything else seems to be. /iHe limped on, cursing and getting into a blacker mood with every step.

Suddenly, he noticed one person who wasn't running for cover. A small elderly woman in a thin cotton gown was wandering down the middle of the road. He rushed across to her as fast as his ankle would allow. She was singing to herself, a faint frown on her face. Suddenly, she turned and addressed him before he could speak.

"Do you live here?"

"Uh. yes, yes, I live here. Are you lost?" He assessed her quickly. Not undernourished - physically healthy, no bruises or injuries, her hair and nails were neat and well cared-for - but her gown was soaked with the rain, and he realised quickly that it wasn't a gown, but a nightdress. Combine that with her slightly distracted gaze, the way she was wandering down the street, the fact that she wasn't waiting for his answer but was wandering off, murmuring "I don't live here - why am I here? Where's Frank?" and he strongly suspected she was an Alzheimer's sufferer who'd wandered out of her home and got lost. He looked around. No sign of anyone else.

"Ma'am? Are you lost?" He stepped in front of her, not touching her, but blocking her way so that she couldn't wander off and go further.

"I don't live here, you know," she informed him, looking increasingly distressed.

Suddenly, there was a rapid patter of footsteps behind him, and a tall thin woman in her forties ran up to them, calling "Mother? Mother?" She arrived and took hold of the woman's arm, muttering "I'm so sorry, she's got dementia, she just wanders off, I had the door open for a few seconds and had to go in to get my purse to pay the delivery man, he must have just let her get out."

"Where do you live?"

"Just over there, the next block," the woman replied. Like her mother, she wasn't dressed for the rain, and they were both shivering.

"I'll walk you over there - here, you can borrow my coat." He ignored her protests and draped his coat round the woman's shoulders, and his jacket around her mother's. He was half-afraid that she would protest, but she seemed reassured by the jacket. She was so tiny, it was more like a coat on her, hanging nearly down to her knees. They set off together through the increasingly heavy and cold rain. He was soon soaked to the skin, and trying not to shiver by the time they reached the woman's apartment. She unlocked the door, shepherded her mother inside and returned his coat, then tried to remove his jacket from her mother.

She protested. "This is Frank's jacket. He gave it to me when we walked back from the dance last night." She clutched the jacket closer to herself, looking distressed.

"I'm so sorry - Frank was my father, she must be thinking of the past." the woman's voice trailed off. She looked utterly exhausted, life's struggles aging her prematurely.

The hell with it, he'd never much liked that jacket. "She can keep it. Really, it's an old suit, I was planning to throw it out anyway."

The look of relief on the woman's face was heartbreaking. No one should have to live the sort of life where a stranger giving away a jacket to comfort their senile mother was the high point of their day. He weighed his next words carefully.

"You know, I'm a police officer. If you're interested - " He got no further, as she interrupted him.

"I know, there are people who can help me," she sing-songed, then pulled her face into a weary smile. "Thank you." And she shut the door in his face, with a rattle of bolts. He stared at it for a few minutes, then sighed, firmly pushed the concern he felt for the two of them out of his head - he could do no more to help - and set off again for his own apartment, carrying his coat. He was soaked to the skin, and all putting his coat on now would do was just get the inside of it wet as well as the outside.

Yes, he thought, reflecting on the day's events, Sienna would be happy about the arrests, but not about the shooting. Her new division had warned the NYPD not to underestimate the con-artists. A valuable lesson learned.

Well, he thought of it as 'her' new division; she wasn't formally attached to it yet, but it was now only a matter of time before she left her old Interpol posting in the Ukraine and moved permanently to New York. The plan at present was to create several teams, consisting of a mixture of police officers, FBI agents and auditors, and translators, and have each team focus on a particular criminal organisation or individual. Sienna had lobbied strongly to get herself onto one of the teams as a translator, intending to use it to gain experience of hands-on intelligence work, then build on that to get herself out of the translation side of things and move upwards and onwards into the decision-making and management side of things.

She'd interviewed for a post on one of the new teams last week and been accepted, and almost immediately racked up major brownie points by providing one of the other teams with a tip-off about the three con-artists they'd been pursuing. They'd done the research and passed it to the NYPD, who'd awarded it to Major Case, hence he and Eames spending the past few days undercover. He still didn't know exactly how she'd got that juicy little piece of information, but he was impressed. Perhaps he could persuade her to tell him.

The thought should have brought him more joy. Watching Sienna blossom before his eyes, visibly growing more confident and decisive as she'd become increasingly involved in helping to set up the new division, had been a real pleasure for him. Her old boss, Tim Whitefield, had been one of the major instigators of the creation of the new division and he'd insisted on keeping her on as his staff translator. As such, she'd spent the past five months spending two weeks every month in the Ukraine at her old job, two weeks in New York with him. Some people would have wilted under that much travelling, but Sienna was a natural born traveller, legacy of her childhood spent flitting between Russia and the US, and if anything she seemed to thrive on the regular changes of scene.

She'd swiftly grasped that, as Whitefield's right-hand woman, she needed to be prepared to boss around people who were both older and more experienced than herself, and she seemed to be developing a real talent for managing others, getting people to work smoothly together. He liked to think he'd had a hand in that. Well, there was a certain security, he supposed was that best way to put it, in knowing that you had someone waiting for you at home. Someone whose eyes would light up when you walked in the room. Someone who would listen when you wanted to talk about your day, and who'd back off if you needed the space.

And there was the problem, he thought, and the reason why the thought of Sienna, usually something that cheered him up even on the worst days, was instead causing slightly mixed feelings. Ever since they'd begun seeing each other, right from that first memorable weekend, she'd always officially been staying with her friend Juliet. Back then he'd been a little surprised when she'd announced, politely but firmly, that she was going to catch up with her old friend and stay with her for a night, but since then he'd come to appreciate why she'd done it. She'd realised from the beginning that he was used to living on his own, and had neatly ensured that he didn't start secretly wishing for a little time alone to wind down whilst she was there by ensuring that they always had a safety valve. It was also something of a reminder - to both of them, he suspected - that she was her own woman, independent, capable of taking care of herself.

He deeply appreciated her consideration, and if anything, the nights she spent staying with her friend just made him appreciate her all the more when she was there. They were moving past the "I must spend as much of my time with you naked as possible" stage of the first few months, but if anything things were getting even better. Their recent trysts had had all the passion and fire of their first times together, but they were becoming more tender, more affectionate. They were both highly tactile and had been from the beginning, but Bobby had noticed that Sienna was becoming more and more comfortable reaching out for him, her lovemaking becoming both more instinctive and assertive as she learned his responses and gained confidence in taking the lead. Where previously she'd always hesitated just a little before embracing him when he got in from work, or when they weren't in bed together, now she just reached out and hugged him whenever she felt the need to - or could sense that he needed her to.

And he'd found himself doing the same thing. Sometimes he just reached out and stroked her, or pulled her against him, and she responded like a flower in the sun, opening up to the warmth. He was getting used to it. Used to having someone around to cook for, someone else's needs to take into consideration, someone who needed him personally, who he could make smile with just a look, a few words, and he was certainly getting used to having a gorgeous young female snuggling up to him in bed on a regular basis, to not having to go out and haunt the bar scene or look up an old acquaintance every time he wanted some female company. Sienna's wholehearted enjoyment of sex matched his libido and imagination, and there had been one or two times he'd rolled into work with shadows under his eyes, yawning, unshaven and grinning smugly.

(Now he came to think of it, Eames had been doing the same thing recently, albeit with less stubble and more make-up. Hmm, yes, he definitely suspected another man on the horizon. Heh, perhaps they'd end up double-dating. Now that would be interesting.)

Which was all good, but, he'd been getting the message from some hints Sienna had dropped that her friend was moving towards getting engaged to her long-term boyfriend. In which case, Sienna's plan to move in with her permanently when she moved to New York was off the cards. He could see the storm cloud of the "to move in together or not to move in together?" dilemma looming up on the horizon, followed in short order by the "how permanent an arrangement do we want to make this?" question, and the even blacker and larger clouds of "does she really understand what she's getting with me?" and "what does she want for her future?". Sienna knew about his mother's illness, and she'd undoubtedly worked out some of his personal history, but he still wasn't sure if she fully understood all the implications.

It wasn't that he didn't want to discuss it with her, but it never seemed to be the right time, and anyway, they'd known each other only a short time, why spoil something good with those kinds of problems? Wasn't it better to take the enjoyment now, rather than wreck a good thing with worries and doubts that might never amount to anything? He believed so, but until the whole "Juliet Issue" was resolved, he couldn't think of Sienna without a certain amount of worry attached, and that annoyed him deeply.

Still, it was due to be resolved one way or the other. Sienna was coming to New York for the next week, arriving today. They'd agreed that due to the undercover work he was doing, it would make more sense for her to stay with Juliet for her first night in the city and join him the day after, so one way or the other they'd have to work out what they were doing about it at some point over the next few days. Which was a good thing, but it did mean that something that was usually a source of uncomplicated joy was now a source of worry and indecision.

With a feeling of great relief, he finally staggered through his apartment's doorway, slammed and locked the door behind him and ditched his folder, coat and shoes. He peeled off the shirt, throwing it into the laundry pile. He'd meant to do the laundry last night, and had only got as far as ditching it by the machine before the phone rang - Sienna, keeping him updated on her travel plans - and he'd forgotten about it. He rooted through the pile and managed to find the least-dirty towel, swiping vaguely at his chest and shoulders and rubbing his head. He was about to wander through to his bedroom in search of a t-shirt and dry pants, when a faint sound on the edges of his hearing caused him to stop and look up. He stood stock still, frozen, straining to hear. There it was again - a faint sound, definitely caused by another human being.

There was someone in his apartment.


	2. Getting Better?

Quickly but quietly, he padded through the kitchen, senses straining. How the hell had the intruder got in? He'd used everything he knew about home security to make his apartment as safe as possible. Where were they? The sound was coming from the bedroom. Cautiously, he peered around the edge of the kitchen door. Something wasn't quite right.

Suddenly, he realised what it was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a bottle of vodka standing out on the kitchen counter. He didn't drink it himself, didn't usually keep it in the apartment, though he'd been meaning to buy some more for Sienna's next visit. It would be an odd intruder who brought vodka with them.

Odd, or welcome. Very quietly, just in case he was wrong, he padded out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom. The door was open a crack, and through it he could see a familiar and reassuring sight. A battered blue suitcase. He knew now who the intruder was, and with it the answer to the riddle of how she'd got in. He hadn't asked Sienna for her key back the last time she'd stayed with him.

There it was again, he thought irritably, memory triggered by the recollection. The last time Sienna had stayed with him… there had been something he'd noticed, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but which had caused his detective instincts to wake up and say, "Hey, there's something here you need to look at more thoroughly… something's not quite right." Maybe it had been something he'd _not_ noticed? Something he should have seen, but hadn't? It was maddeningly unclear, and he shook his head with frustration. It would come to him eventually, if he stopped trying to force it.

Sienna was in his apartment… A smile crept over his face. It occurred to him to wonder why she wasn't staying with Juliet, or why she hadn't rung him. Well, she knew he was working undercover; that might answer one question, and as for Juliet, well, plans changed. Perhaps she'd just missed him. Or equally, perhaps she'd been feeling tired. His home was nearer the airport than Juliet's, and in a nicer area. He shivered slightly. He was still wet from the rain outside, and the apartment's heating was being sluggish in coming on. She might be asleep, he thought, as he very gently pushed open the bedroom door to avoid disturbing her if she was.

What he saw transfixed him. She wasn't asleep. Very definitely not. She was lying naked on his bed, eyes shut, head turned slightly away from him, warm curvy body framed by the dark bedcover underneath her. She was lying on top of the old t-shirt he occasionally slept in; he could detect his own scent in the air, her body warming it, mixing with her scent. He could feel his body responding to it, wanting her. For just a minute, the realisation that had been circling his head for a while whenever he thought of her, maddeningly refusing to come into focus, swam back up again. Perhaps if he'd been able to focus on it for a few minutes it would have come to him, but that was impossible with Sienna lying naked there before him. Suddenly, something – maybe instinct – had evidently alerted Sienna to his presence. Her eyes snapped open and she looked up. For a second, she looked startled, then her mouth curved up in a wide, wicked smile of welcome, and she held out her arms.

He needed no second invitation, instinct taking over completely as he literally threw himself on top of her. He heard her grunt slightly, but there was nothing unwilling at all in the way her arms wound around his neck and pulled his mouth roughly onto hers, thrusting her tongue in deeply. The shock of her warm body under his chilled flesh was enough to drive all other thoughts out of his head…

Some time later, he was vaguely aware of Sienna gently nudging at him, hinting that she'd appreciate it if he removed his weight from on top of her. He wriggled off her carefully, then reached across to pull the covers over them, rolling onto his side. She murmured "You're _cold_," in a tone of endearing concern, and snuggled herself behind him, spooning up with one of her arms under his head and the other gently stroking his chest and belly, her lips kissing his neck and ears. He finished wrapping the covers round them, and relaxed against her, savouring the warmth of her body against his back, her hands stroking him affectionately.

"Better?"

"Mmm... yes." He was beginning to see why she liked having him wrapped around her so much. Normally he liked to be the one doing the holding, liked seeing her curled up in his embrace - she'd once told him it made her feel safe and protected - but why not enjoy what she was offering? His back was really too broad and his body too long for her to wrap around him in the same way he could her, but the feeling of her warm, soft body against him was lovely. They stayed like that for a while, then he very gently rolled over, taking her in his arms and looking deep into those familiar green eyes, both of them smiling, Sienna's eyes half-closing with pleasure. It was a little unusual to be doing the kissing and stroking _after_ the sex, but why not? She smiled more widely, chuckling very softly, and asked in a tone of lazy amusement, "So, nice to see you again. How was your day?"

"It just got a _lot_ better."

"Me too."

She looked very, very satisfied. Now that he was no longer distracted by his hormones, he noticed a slightly sweet smell in the air, something on her. He glanced across at the bedside table and saw a glass of what looked like water, but which he guessed was probably vanilla vodka, Sienna's favourite drink if she was feeling down. He decided to take advantage of her mood and risked pushing his luck.

"You mind if I smoke?" Usually he'd not risk asking. She'd made it politely but firmly clear that whilst his habits were his own business, she didn't like the smell and particularly not on her. He tried not to smoke around her, and one of these days he'd quit altogether. But right now he really craved a cigarette.

She smiled and wriggled up into a sitting position, reaching for the glass. "Hell no. Let's be substance users together." He was aware of her watching as he padded naked across the room to find an ashtray, opening the window a crack en route. She leaned over and switched the light on. Autumn had come in fast, and the evenings were darker and colder. He was vaguely aware that she'd notice he'd put on weight, but one look at her smug, _this-man-is-mine_ expression reassured him she either hadn't noticed or didn't care. He slid back under the covers, putting the ashtray on the table beside him and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her breathing tickling his chest.

"So good to see you again." she murmured.

"You too, beautiful Sienna." He smiled to see her flush, and look down shyly. She offered him the glass; he shook his head. "Too sweet for me."

"Uh-huh. Bought it at Heathrow airport. Just as well. I had the worst flight ever over here; we had to stop at this little airport in the middle of nowhere when we got to this side of the Atlantic. I have no idea where it is, but it was surrounded by mountains, I guess there must have been thermals rising off them. Bumpiest landing I've ever had. I swear you could hear the wings rattle for every foot we went down. People praying, you name it."

"Sorry to hear that." He glanced across. She was looking thoughtful. "What's on your mind?" He should probably work round to asking her why she was here and not staying over with Juliet. The answer might be as simple as _I missed you_, but in case it wasn't, he decided not to push it just yet, to let the moment last a little longer.

"Oh, it's silly."

He gave her his best _you-can-tell-me_ look. She gave him her best _I-know-that's-the-look-that-fooled-a-thousand-suspects-don't-you-try-it-on-ME_ look in reply, then shrugged, and giggled. "Well before you came in, I was just wondering if secretly I'm a female chauvinist pig."

"Hmm?"

"I'm a modern, enlightened woman, but I fantasise about having this big, powerful, dark-haired, handsome guy pin me to the bed and take me roughly. Shouldn't I be trying to take the lead more?" Her tone was more thoughtful than worried, he noticed. She had come a long way from the shy woman in army fatigues who'd had to pluck up all her courage to get him into bed. "Shouldn't we be attracted to people for their personality? I mean, what about skinny, red-haired, nervous guys? If all women thought the same as me, they'd _never_ get laid." She added hastily, "Not that I don't find your personality equally appealing. Odd, but appealing."

"Hmm…" He pretended to give that some thought. "Well, you know I only do that because you love it and it's what you want, you're in control the whole time, why not do what you enjoy? On the one hand, you have a point and society judges far too much by looks."

"And on the other?"

"For you, it's all academic. No guys, skinny, red-haired or otherwise, are going to get near you as long as I'm around, so fantasise away." He smiled evilly, enjoying her deep chuckles in reply. She took another sip of her drink, and smiled at him, looking him in the eyes.

"You know, for an enlightened man, you do sometimes manage to give the impression you'd like to chain me to the bedpost." Oh, there was an image. He thought about that for a while, and got a gentle elbow in the ribs. "You're smiling. You're ENJOYING that thought, aren't you?"

"It's a nice picture... Little collar, pair of heels, sulky expression."

"Leather bikini."

"I'm sorry?"

"If, hypothetically speaking, I happened to be someone's bedroom slave, I think a leather bikini of some sort would be called for, and probably a few bangles."

"You want to go shopping tomorrow?"

"I'm sure you can persuade me."

He leaned across to flick the ash off into the ashtray, and winced. She saw it. "What's wrong?"

"Ah, just a knot in my shoulder. It'll go away." She wriggled up behind him. One small hand made its way up his back and began to rub. Her hands were small but strong. _Oh, this felt good_. They stayed like that for a minute, then she pointed out, "This would be a lot easier if you were lying down."

"That makes a change."

"I'm sorry?"

He grinned, the mischievous grin that never failed to put an answering smile on her face. "Usually you like me on my back."

"Even _you_ don't recover that quickly."

He stretched out on the bedcovers, noticing that the heating was finally kicking in, the room warming up pleasantly. Beside him, Sienna set her glass down and began to root through the bedside table's drawer. "The oil's at the back," he added helpfully. She found it and turned to settle herself across his back, but the bottle must have been slippery; it fell out of her hands onto the bed. With a muttered curse, she began mopping at the spill with some tissues.

"Don't worry too much, we'll have to change this sheet anyway," he pointed out, and was amused to see her blush… at which point, the maddeningly unclear thought about her that had been bugging him finally emerged out of his subconscious and smacked him between the eyes.

Sienna said she was on the Pill.

He'd never seen her taking it.

Worse than that, he realised with dawning horror, as the thought emerged with horrible clarity. The whole time he'd known her… she'd never had any periods.


	3. Scenes from a PseudoItalian Restaurant

He lay there, barely feeling her hands rubbing his back as his mind raced frantically. Okay, he had known her for four months. In each of those months, she had been in New York for two weeks. Was it possible her visits just hadn't coincided with her period?

Possible but… vanishingly unlikely. They hadn't always been the same two weeks, after all. One month she had stayed over the first two weeks, the next two over the second and third week, last month it had been the third and fourth week. Whether she was on the Pill or not, she should have had a period at some point or other during those weeks and, given that they'd spent a _lot _of time together, he'd definitely have noticed.

He felt vaguely uncomfortable speculating about his girlfriend in this way, but the thought was being drowned out by the voice in the back of his head screaming _ohmyGod-ohmyGod-ohmyGOD-what-if-she's-pregnant-what-if-she's-PREGNANT_? Well, he reasoned frantically, if she were pregnant, she could not be more than a few weeks along… no sickness, no weight gain. She'd been drinking. Would Sienna drink if she were pregnant? Somehow, he doubted it… but what if she didn't know? How much had she had before he arrived? Not much, obviously, she was still quite sober, maybe just a few sips…

"Bobby, are you okay?" Her voice broke in on his mind's frantic churning.

"Huh?" 

"You've gone as stiff as a board, and whilst I'm generally in favour of that as a principle, not exactly like this." 

"Aahhh… it's just been a really, really bad day at work."

"Sorry to hear that. You want to do something to help de-stress?" The invitation in her voice was obvious. The voice in the back of his head took the opportunity to remind him that, even if she hadn't been pregnant before, she quite possibly was now, given what they'd just done. _Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn_. He wasn't sure what was more worrying, the possibility that she might be pregnant or the fact the thought caused an entirely unexpected feeling of elation - elation mixed with panic, fear and worry, but elation never the less. Before he could reply, the sound of her stomach growling saved him. She giggled.

"Oops, sorry. Haven't eaten for a while."

"You want to go out to eat? I don't feel like cooking." He didn't feel like eating either, but it got him out of having to explain to her why he suddenly didn't want to make love to her either.

"Yeah, why not? I need to shower. You want to join me?"

_I want to know if you're on the Pill, and if not, why you didn't tell me_. No, that was not the way to ask. He needed time to think. "Umm… my foot's still bad." He explained briefly about the twisted ankle. "You go ahead… I'm going to go see if I've got any ice or ibuprofen."

"Uh-huh." She wriggled off the bed and wandered off towards the shower, turning back at the door to smile in invitation. He returned the smile, feeling like a liar as he did so. She shut the door behind her, and he let out a long breath. 

What now? Had Sienna been lying to him all this time? He ran through the facts. One, she had had no periods whilst he'd known her. Two, she claimed to be on the Pill – she'd told him that just before the first time they'd - but he'd never seen her take it, and the absence of periods suggested she wasn't, in fact, taking it. He briefly considered going through her suitcase to see if he could find any pill packets, but rejected that because if she suddenly remembered she'd left something she needed in it, she'd catch him doing it and that would lead to some very awkward questions.

Awkward questions were undoubtedly going to be a feature of the near future anyway, but, even so, he wanted to be in control of the situation. I _thought I WAS in control of the situation… _He stared at the bathroom door. Normally, he'd not have thought twice about joining her in there, picturing her in the shower, water and soap running over her curves. Less _than twenty minutes ago, I was screaming her name, telling her she was beautiful. Now I'm wondering if she's carrying my child. _Hardly the first man ever to be in that situation, but he'd never have thought it would happen to him.

What were the possibilities? One, she was lying about the Pill and was a few weeks pregnant from an earlier encounter – they'd always used condoms, but even so, one accident was all it took… and she'd just not been in New York during her period when she'd stayed with him the first couple of months. He swiftly repressed the jumble of feelings that evoked, and moved on to option two. She was lying about the Pill and had some other reason for not having periods.

Barren for some reason? That would let him off the hook, and would explain the absence of periods… but he hoped not, for reasons he didn't care to examine too closely. What were the other options? Transsexual? That was a real outside possibility. He doubted it – no scarring, either mental or physical, and she had the sort of stretch marks over her hips and breasts you'd expect from a born female who'd gone through a growth spurt. He forced himself to face the fact that he didn't want her to be transsexual; it wouldn't say much for his abilities as a detective if he couldn't spot something like that about his own girlfriend. Therefore, it was either option one or two. Unfortunately, the only way he was going to find out, he realised, was to ask her.

Nearly an hour later, showered, clothed and hunting for a meal, he still hadn't worked out the best way to approach the problem. In keeping with how his day had gone so far, they'd hopped out of the cab to find that their favourite restaurant was closed, and had turned round to find that the cab had accepted another fare and was halfway down the street. As the rain began once more to fall, they'd dived swiftly into the nearest place that looked halfway decent. It was attempting to be an Italian bistro; since the chef was Greek, the headwaiter Chinese, and the waitress who'd showed them to their table from what sounded to him like northern England, the attempt was not exactly successful. Still, it was nearly full, and some of the other diners were obviously regulars, so hopefully it wouldn't be too bad.

Sienna was perusing the menu with eagerness. He'd thought before, privately, that she seemed to prove the truth of the old saying about girls who liked their food. Sienna enjoyed pretty much every kind of sensual pleasure that came her way. Then again, he'd noticed that Eames liked to eat too… _ah hell, Eames_, he thought, with a sense of frustration at how things had been going between the two of them lately. He had no idea what the problem was, and he didn't think _he'd _done anything to piss her off. It just seemed as though Eames had something else on her mind, something that might be more important than their partnership. He had to admit, the thought of that was uncomfortable, although if he were being fair, perhaps she'd thought that when he'd been in the early stages of his relationship with Sienna. He sighed wearily. It seemed as though right now every relationship in his life was becoming fraught with difficulty. 

"What's wrong?"

"Sorry?"

"You're frowning."

"Eames and I – well, I'm a little worried about her right now." He found himself describing the problem to Sienna, who listened with interest, and, he was slightly irked to see, some amusement. Still, at least she wasn't jealous. That had been a sticking point for a couple of other relationships he'd had. Eventually, any prospective partner had to come face-to-face with the fact that he spent most of his waking hours with another woman, one who understood him completely and whom he trusted utterly, and generally that was the point at which things started going wrong.

Sienna so far seemed utterly unfazed by his partnership with Eames. Her one and only comment about it had been "I just assumed that if the two of you were sleeping together, you wouldn't be with me." Well, she was in law-enforcement herself, and understood that the relationship between a cop and his or her partner was one that could become almost as deep and trusting as any romantic relationship. She was smiling now, enigmatically.

"You got any ideas?" he asked.

"A couple, but I could be wrong… anyway, do you want some wine?"

_Oh, shit_. The "is she pregnant, did she lie about the Pill, what the hell's going on here?" problem reasserted itself with a vengeance.

"Uh… no. Best not with these pills I'm taking for my ankle."

"Okay." She sounded disappointed. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she would not drink if he wasn't; didn't like being more drunk than the person she was with. Although for a small woman, she had a surprising capacity for alcohol; "Russian genes" was her explanation.

The waitress arrived. "Can I take your order?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the steak, medium rare –" He stopped. The waitress looked over her shoulder, then leaned forward conspiratorially. He caught a distinct suggestion of wine on her breath.

"Can I give you a word of advice?" She didn't wait for him to answer, but went on "I wouldn't have the steak. He's really not very good at cooking it; we only have it to compete with that place over the road."

"Do you know why they got shut down?" Sienna broke into what looked like being a monologue on the inferiority of the restaurant over the road, obviously a hated rival.

"I think it was Environmental Health, love. Li? That place over the road? They got shut down last week, wasn't it?" She looked up at the headwaiter, who was passing by at speed, balancing a large pile of plates with the skill of a juggler.

"Oh yes. Rats I hear. But don't worry! They inspected us at the same time; we're fine." He smiled professionally and vanished through the swinging door, yelling at the chef. Sienna was looking amused, and Bobby had a nasty suspicion it was at his expression.

"So what do you recommend?" she asked, wearing her most charming expression. The waitress beamed, and replied, "I'd have the risotto. He's really good at risotto."

"Make that two risottos then – unless there was something else you wanted?" Sienna raised her eyebrows. He shook his head.

"You two want anything to drink?"

"Just water is fine," he replied, a touch more firmly than he'd intended. The waitress shrugged, smiled, collected the menus and disappeared. Sienna was giving him a rather quizzical look. He thought yet again, about how on earth he could ask her what was bothering him.

It was almost amusing, he supposed, if you looked at it from the outside. The great Detective Goren struggling to ask someone a question! But then, when he usually interrogated people he didn't have to worry about sharing a bed with them later on that evening. _Oh, God_. Well, he could play the "I'm too tired tonight" card, but unfortunately he wasn't, in fact, too tired. As Sienna would find out in about three seconds if she tried snuggling up to him, or touching him, or any of the myriad other pleasant ways they usually ended an evening together, although whether he _would _be able to perform with this worry hanging over his head was another matter… He needed to think of some way to resolve this, and fast.

"So, how did your friend Elena's birthday party go?" he asked, trying to regain control over the situation and buy some time.

"It went really well, we had a great time, I was so relieved – we've been planning that for months!" Sienna glanced down for a second, and when she looked up, she was smiling so affectionately at him, he involuntarily caught his breath. She looked _beautiful_; there was no other word for it. "You know-" she paused, obviously trying to find the right words "-most men tend to forgot stuff like that. I like how you always listen when I'm talking to you. Thanks."

He shrugged, trying to keep the tone light. "You know me… I have a good memory."

She smiled back. "Must be why I love you. See you in five." She rose and headed towards the ladies' room. He watched her go, staring dumbly, her words playing repeatedly in his head.

_Must be why I… love you. I love you._

Oh… damn. Oh wow. He rubbed his face, and sighed helplessly. Be _honest, Goren. You've thought that a few times yourself. Never seemed like the right time to say it_, he thought helplessly, but nevertheless, it was the truth. He tried out the words inside his head. _I love you_. They fit.

_When did I fall for her_? he wondered wildly. Was it when he'd woken up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep after an especially harrowing case that week, and found her there beside him, and spent an hour holding her and watching her sleep, realising that he didn't have to face the nights alone? When he'd tentatively pushed open the front door after spending the night at Eames' when what had been intended to be an hour or so going over some papers turned into five hours plus falling asleep on the couch, and been greeted with "How's Alex?" not "Where the hell have you been?"

When he'd discovered that, although her claim that she could burn _water _was accurate as far as her cooking skills went, she was an extremely appreciative eater and always washed up afterwards? When, trembling with nerves and clad in borrowed army fatigues, she'd propositioned him, and then turned out to be warm, sexy, and surprisingly skilful once she'd gotten over her nerves? That had been one of the most memorable and erotic experiences of his life… _Oh, damn_, he thought, shaking his head in resigned amusement at the whole situation. _I've finally fallen for someone, and I can't even tell her until we sort this out_.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sienna's return, followed shortly by the waitress, who was bearing two large bowls and some bread. Sienna dug in with enthusiasm. He tasted, and frowned. It wasn't bad, but it was the wrong kind of rice; basmati, not arborio. Sienna looked up at him.

"What's wrong?"

He explained about the rice. Sienna shrugged. "Well, it tastes good anyway," she replied, and kept eating. He followed suit, nibbling unenthusiastically. She noted that, and frowned.

"Bobby, seriously is something wrong? You seem to have had something on your mind all night."

_I'm wondering if you're carrying my child_. "Could you pass the Parmesan?"

"Sure. What's wrong?" She sounded genuinely concerned.

"Just… a bad day. Lots of different problems to deal with all at once…" he hedged, looking at her, trying desperately to work out if he could see her lying to him about the Pill. To what end, anyway? Why would she want to do that? To get pregnant? He couldn't quite see how that would square with all her ambitions, her new job. He suddenly realised she was speaking, and something in her tone suggested he'd better pay attention.

"Ah… that reminds me. There's something we need to talk about." She paused in her eating for a while, balancing the fork on the bowl.

_Oh shit._

"You might have been wondering why I was in your apartment this evening, not staying over with Juliet."

_Okay, not quite what I was expecting_. "I, uh… assumed you were missing me."

She smiled, a soft smile that would ordinarily have had his heart beating faster. "I was. But, also, last night Juliet's boyfriend proposed."

"Ah."

"Yes. Ah. They didn't throw me out exactly, but… it was pretty obvious that they don't really want anyone else around right now, he's practically moved in with her. Which leaves me with a problem…"

_This would be my cue to say, "So, you can come and stay with me instead." Now what? Do I want her to come stay with me? Be honest, Goren. The answer is yes – okay, so we haven't discussed what she wants in the long-term, or whether she sees you as potential father material, and there's the whole fourteen-year age gap – but, even so, and even knowing there's all that to sort out plus whatever this other problem is, still, definitely, YES_.

Or at least, he mused, it _would _have been yes – if he could be certain that he hadn't totally misjudged her. He recalled her expression when she'd been discussing her new job two weeks ago – so keen, so excited, so happy – and suddenly he reached a conclusion. _She couldn't possibly be as excited and confident about her job if she thought she might suddenly have to leave it to go on maternity leave, and she knows there's no way she could simultaneously help create this new squad and become a first-time mother, so she CAN'T be either pregnant or trying to be. There must be another explanation, and this is where you have to ask her what it is. _The other alternative to all this – that his ability to judge someone's character could be off – he rejected out of hand. _Right, how do I ask this?_

"… and my father is the Emperor of Japan, and my mother is a small tray of raspberry puddings," Sienna concluded, and fixed him with an annoyed glare.

_Whuh_? His brain tried desperately to process that last sentence, and came up with "I didn't know you read Terry Pratchett – that's from 'Maskerade,' isn't it?" as a delaying tactic whilst he tried frantically to read Sienna's expression, which was one part normal female annoyance at not being listened to, to several parts… something he wasn't sure of, but which was not good. She was frowning quite severely, an expression he'd never seen her use on him before, but if she regularly used it on others he could begin to understand where her new reputation for keeping people in line was coming from.

"Yes, it is. I read a great deal when I'm in the air. You have spent the entire evening looking at me as if I'm a particularly difficult suspect, and you're not quite sure how to get me to crack. What's wrong?"

He covered his mouth with his hand – a classic 'I don't quite know what to say next' gesture, he realised with some annoyance – and returned the stare. Whatever she saw in his eyes caused her expression to soften somewhat, but she was clearly not going to let this go. "Bobby – you may be great at mind games, but I'm not. I work better with honesty. Please, just tell me what's wrong."

"I've spent the past hour or so wondering why it is that I've never seen you take the Pill, and you seem to have no periods," he replied, and instantly thought of three ways he could have phrased that better. Or possibly not? Sienna looked – baffled at first, then slightly embarrassed and amused.

"Ah. Yes, I see how that could be a problem. Have you spent the past evening wondering if I'm pregnant?"

He nodded.

"Ah. Right." She leaned over the table and covered his free hand with both of hers, looking him intently in the eyes.

"You have to promise to let me get all the way to the end of this next sentence."


	4. The Perfect End

"You haven't seen me taking the Pill because I'm not on it…"

_Oh, SHIT_…

"…because I use the contraceptive injection."

_And suddenly, I can breathe again. _Sienna was smiling, both her small hands stroking his large hand, entwining her fingers through his. He dropped his free hand across hers, holding both her hands cupped between his, warming them gently.

"I use it because you don't have to worry about forgetting it in the morning. I know a couple of girls who got caught out with different time zones; there's always the risk you'll forget to take the pill at the right time. With this, all I need to do is get to the doctor every few months. I don't have periods because the jab stops them; you don't get any at all. When you travel as much as I do, that's a big bonus, believe me."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Nah. I know women who've had babies after coming off it… I'm really sorry I didn't tell you this before, Bobby. I know I should have done, but I just didn't think…"

"Why didn't you tell me the first time?" He thought back to the army warehouse, Sienna pulling herself free of his embrace for just a few seconds, her legs still wrapped round his waist, to tell him she used birth control – and reassure him that this was what she wanted. He'd thought at the time that he really appreciated her understanding that he needed to hear that from her, that he didn't need to worry that afterwards she'd accuse him of taking advantage. Then he'd kissed her again, and she'd started undoing his jacket, and after that all forms of rational thought had flown out of the window…

"Most men haven't heard of it, but you've all heard of the Pill. Having to stop for a minute and explain what the injection is can _really_ kill the mood, believe me." She grinned. "Should have known _you'd_ know what it is. Guess I just didn't know you that well back then."

"So, you have no periods at all? You're not pregnant?"

"No. I had my last injection a month ago." She smiled ruefully. "I really am sorry about the misunderstanding, I should have realised you'd notice something wasn't quite right."

"It's okay. So, you won't be moving in with Juliet."

"No."

"Would you like to move in with me?" He nearly added _It can just be temporary while you look for somewhere to live, if you like_, but stopped himself in case it sounded like a hint. _Let her decide what she wants to do_, he thought.

Sienna's eyes lit up. "I'd love to, Bobby. I really would. I start my new job next month – I'll take leave, start bringing some of my things over, it's going to take quite a while to pack everything up and move from the Ukraine, but I don't own my flat there, I'll get Elena to find someone to take over the lease, it shouldn't take _too_ long. Oh… wow!"

She was smiling, a full-on smile that made him want to reach across the table and kiss her, in fact he'd like to sweep her straight up into his arms and kiss her properly, and hug her, and curse the wretched table that was keeping them apart… He suddenly realised that his smile matched hers, and then closed his eyes for just a second. In the past few minutes, he'd gone from worry, to panic, to being in love, to more worry, then overwhelming relief and now everything looked like being all right.

Sienna was still speaking. "How much do you want in rent?"

He started to say _I don't need your money_, but recognised in time that she was wearing her _this-is-not-negotiable_ expression. _Fair enough_, he supposed. _Doesn't want to be a kept woman. _

"We'll… work something out. I don't need much."

"I appreciate that, but it's important to me." She shrugged. "Tell you what, work out how much you think is fair and we'll put it into in a savings account, if you like."

He nodded, and then inspiration struck. "Do you want to go on vacation together? Some time around Christmas, maybe? We could use the money for that."

"Yes, that's a great idea. Any parts of the world you haven't seen? I quite fancy somewhere warm and sunny…"

She was interrupted by the waitress bustling over to ask if everything was all right with their meal. They both nodded, and he asked, "Could we have some wine please? Cabernet Sauvignon if you've got any." She nodded cheerfully and was back with a bottle and two glasses in what seemed like only a few seconds.

He filled their glasses, raised his, and was about to propose a small toast, when suddenly his cell phone went off. Sienna chuckled as he frantically searched for it, finding it in his pants pocket. The beeping turned out to be a message from a number he didn't recognise: _Bobby, you have the spare key to my apartment – could you go there & pick up papers for Nantwich fraud case for tomorrow morning? Thanks! Eames. PS my cell battery's gone flat, borrowed a friend's. _He frowned at it for a minute, then an idea slowly began to form.

"What is it?"

He passed the phone to her to show her the message. Sienna fiddled with it until she saw the number. She retrieved her own cell phone, checked something on it, then began laughing. She handed his phone back to him, still grinning.

"You recognise the number?" he asked, though he had already guessed the answer.

"Oh, yes. Remember Stephen Vallis from when we had that meeting a few weeks ago, before you started the undercover work?"

"The consultant?" He did remember the man, an urbane expatriate Englishman in a sleek grey suit, who had been introduced to the assorted law-enforcement personnel as an expert on Russian and US business law, and in particular on what anyone working in on cases relating to Russian organised crime needed to be aware of. Sienna's new department had organised the meeting, having retained Vallis on a consultant's contract to provide advice as and when required. _Well, it looks as though the four of us have been doing our bit for friendly inter-agency relations_…

Bobby had been struck by three things about Vallis; one, that he was capable of presenting a lot of information in a short space of time without boring his audience to sleep, two, that anyone wearing a suit that well-cut was obviously doing very well for himself indeed, and three, that he was the sort of man whom women would undoubtedly remember; pleasant face, short brown hair, and very unusual blue-green eyes behind designer steel-rimmed spectacles. Hmm. Had that been the odd connection between himself and Eames at work again? They often had moments where they were aware of each other's thoughts without speaking… had that been his subconscious picking up on her reaction?

"That's the one. I must say I'm impressed." Sienna raised her eyebrows. "I know at least three women who've been chasing him without success. I wonder how long that's been going on for?"

"Probably since just after that meeting," he replied, finally making the connection between Eames' recent distraction at work and her new 'friend', who presumably was rather more than a friend if she was staying over with him. He sent her a quick reply to say he'd get the papers for her, then remembered the other puzzle he'd been meaning to solve. "By the way, how _did_ you get that tip-off about the con artists?"

Sienna smiled enigmatically. "I have my little ways." To his frown, she replied, "Oh come on, Bobby, I don't expect you to tell me the details of your informants. Allow me a little mystery." She yawned and stretched. "We'd better be getting back to your apartment soon, if you're going to be up in time to get those papers for Alex."

_Interesting quick change of subject there_… Well, as she'd said, he couldn't tell her everything about his job, and he realised he'd have to accept that the same would sometimes apply to her. Besides, getting back to the apartment sounded like an excellent idea, although sleep did _not_ feature in his plans for the rest of the evening, and he was sure he could persuade Sienna that it shouldn't feature in hers, either. He smiled and raised his wineglass. "Okay. Well, to Eames and Vallis, then… and to us."

Sienna raised her own glass. They drank, and continued eating. He noticed now that the risotto was tasting a lot better. Much like the restaurant itself, if you took it for what it was, rather than for what it was trying to be, it was just great. He could identify chicken and little bits of bacon, and tomato, and pepper, and hmm, something soft was rubbing along the inside of his leg… he glanced up, to see Sienna smiling, with just a hint of wickedness in her eyes. He gave her his most seductive smile in reply, and was gratified to see her little intake of breath. This was going to be a very, very good night.

As they left the restaurant a little while later (being sure to leave a generous tip for the waitress), he suddenly realised that although Sienna had said she loved him, he hadn't said it in reply. Nevertheless, he thought, she didn't seem to be harbouring any doubts about his feelings for her. Then suddenly her lips were on his, and it went flying out of his mind…

…until, much later that night, looking up into Sienna's beautiful eyes, he realised why she didn't mind that he hadn't yet said it out, because if his eyes looked anything like hers, she already knew. But still, he thought, it _was_ important to say these things, and so, in the end, it was really just a matter of saying aloud what his eyes had been saying all night and probably for a long time before that, "I love you, Sienna."

FIN


End file.
